Chapter 293

Chapter 293
I ignored the theatrics and walked calmly toward him, my gaze subtly counting, cataloguing. Left flank. Right flank. Rear. Guards spaced evenly. Armed. Alert. Fifty men. I had ten.

But mine were ghosts. Already positioned.

If today was the day we all died, then fine—but Tom, and the snake he called a mother, were not leaving this field alive. That much I swore in my bones.

“What is this, Tom?” I asked mildly, my voice bored. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

He smirked and straightened to his full height, strolling closer. “Aren’t you happy to see me, brother?” he croaked, his eyes flicking behind me. He saw only my car. No convoy. No backup.

His grin widened.
“I see you came alone.”

Yes. Think I came alone, you fucking idiot.

“You aren’t worth sacrificing my men for,” I said evenly. “I could kill you in a heartbeat. You know that.”

He laughed, loud and sharp. “I do. A killer you are, through and through.”

I said nothing.

He stepped closer, until his shoulder brushed mine, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, “You see that blood over there?”

My fist clenched at my side, nails biting into my palm. Rage surged hot and violent, but my face remained stone.

“Do you know whose it is?”

“I’m guessing you’re going to tell me,” I replied lightly, meeting his eyes.

He beamed, clapping his hands together. “Yes! You guessed right. I will tell you. I always tell you things, don’t I? Even when you don’t appreciate it.” He pouted theatrically.

I rolled my eyes, unimpressed.

“That right there,” he said softly, savoring it, “is your wife’s blood.”

Something inside me shifted—went cold, lethal—but I didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Is she alive, at least?” I asked.

His eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. Then he burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
“You monster,” he wheezed. “Is that how you react when you hear your wife is injured?”

I shrugged. “How I react isn’t what you want to see, Tom. What you want to see is how far I can go to protect her—because you know I’ll never do the same for you.”
The smile slid off his face.
I leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Isn’t that right, Tommy boy?” I pressed. “You’re jealous of a woman?”

He snarled, grabbing my shirt, trying—and failing—to lift me. His strength meant nothing to me.

“You monster—”

Martha’s hand landed sharply on his back. “Stop it, you fool,” she hissed. “He’s goading you, you idiot.”

Tom’s body trembled with fury. His jaw clenched, eyes blazing as he shoved me away and turned, dragging his hands through his hair, growling like a caged animal.

I straightened my clothes calmly, my mind already racing— Where is she? Where the fuck is my wife?
“You never change, do you, synoksho,” Martha said quietly.
I snapped my gaze to her, the urge to strangle her with my bare hands hitting me square in the chest.
“You’re the one doing all the changing, Martha,” I said coldly. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
She scoffed. “Didn’t think I had it in me to fight for my child?”
“You mean this?” I gestured vaguely between us. “I only refused him a relationship. He can go on being my father’s son—but wanting to be my brother is my choice, isn’t it?”
She laughed, sharp and humorless. “You’ve always thought you were better than the rest of us, doragaya. But you aren’t. You’re flesh and blood just like us. And flesh and blood dies.”

I shrugged, her words sliding off me without leaving a dent.
“You’re both bitter because you remain disposable. My father disposed you for my mother. Disposed Tom for me. And when I found out he existed, I disposed him too.” My lips curved slightly. “I may be flesh and blood like you, Martha—but I’ll never be as disposable as you are.”
Her eyes burned.
“How long did you have to play the part of a loving mother?” I continued evenly. “Because I know you don’t care about Tom. You never did. You just wanted revenge. Like I said—fucking disposable. And pathetic.”
I didn’t see it coming.
Her palm connected with my face with a sharp crack that echoed across the field. My head snapped to the side. Even Tom froze, staring at us in shock.
Slowly, I turned back to her, smirking as I tasted blood on my tongue and licked it away.
“You’re just like your son, Martha,” I said calmly. “So easy to rile up. And you really think you can win against me?”

“You fucking—”

“Ma.” Tom cut in quickly, grabbing her arm as she lunged for me. “You’re the one who told me not to let him get to me.”
She wrenched herself free and slapped him too.

Tom gasped. “What the hell was that for?”
“I don’t know!” she shrieked. “But you need to stop behaving like a little child every time you’re around him, Tom. He’s a psychopath. He doesn’t feel things. If you want to win against him, you’ll—”
I tuned them out.
My eyes scanned the field again, the need to find Tamara clawing violently at my chest. On the far end, I spotted movement—my men, hidden, and waiting. Guns raised. Ready. One signal and this place would turn into a graveyard.
But I shook my head slightly.
Not yet.
I needed to know if she was alive.
“Fuck this shit,” Tom hissed suddenly. His face was red with rage. Martha looked like she could rip his throat out herself. I almost laughed. These were the fools who thought they could beat me?
Tom snapped his fingers.
His men moved.
I straightened, muscles coiling, ready to fight—but they didn’t come for me. Instead, they veered off, disappearing down another path.
Then I saw it.
They dragged someone out from behind a barrel.
My breath caught.
Hair—her hair—spilled forward, tangled and dull. My heart slammed violently against my ribs, my legs already surging forward—
Strong arms locked around me, restraining me.
“Ah ah,” Tom croaked close to my ear. “Not so fast, brother. Let’s see if she can really awaken something inside that black chest of yours.”

I struggled against the hold. “Tom—”

“Not a fucking word,” he hissed.
He was angry. Shit. Tom angry was reckless.
They shoved Tamara forward.
She limped. My vision tunneled.
Her hair was a mess, dried tears streaking her cheeks, her clothes soaked and stained with blood. My heart stuttered violently. Was she hurt? How badly?
Her eyes lifted. They met mine across the field.
Her lips wobbled, but she tucked them between her teeth, forcing herself not to cry again. Two armed men flanked her, guns trained, but she wasn’t fighting like I was.

She was exhausted and Broken.
The moment she fully registered me, her shoulders sagged like the last thread holding her upright had snapped.
I shook against the men restraining me.
“Are you okay?” I mouthed desperately, so only her could hear.  She shook her head.
And that—that—was enough to cripple me completely.